Secrets, Lies, and Crawfish Pies Read online

  But now, I’d been back a few days and hadn’t checked in yet. I felt bad.

  I’d also known a time or two when she’d gone to my Auntie Zanne for a brew when she “was feelin’ poorly” as she put it. Yep. Perhaps it was time that she made a visit to see Auntie Zanne. I knew I always railed against her remedies, but for some, taking something that you believed in was almost as good as getting something prescribed by a doctor.

  Seeing Aunt Julep in this shape really made me upset with my Auntie Zanne as well. How could she think that Aunt Julep, in the condition she was in, could hunt down someone through the woods and shoot them in the back? What could she have been thinking?

  “What you got there?” Aunt Julep pointed to the covered pots I’d put on the stove. “I thought I smelled something when I came in here.”

  I stood up and walked over to the stove. I picked up one of the pots, took it to her, and opened it. “I made you some crawfish étouffée,” I said.

  “Oh!” she said and covered her mouth with her hands. “That looks so good.” She looked up at me. “I was going to cook for you.”

  “I was happy to do it,” I said and bent over to make my face even with her. “I like doing things for you.”

  “You so sweet,” she said and cupped her hands around my face. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll grab us some plates,” I said, standing up. I sat the crawfish dish on the table, grabbed some dishes from the cabinet, silverware from the drawer, and the rice I’d left on the stove.

  “You hungry?” I asked.

  “Well, if I wasn’t before,” she said, “with all those good smells you’ve filled my kitchen up with, I am now.”

  I fixed our plates and we ate until our bellies were full and laughed until Aunt Julep started coughing.

  “Let me get these dishes,” I said after we finished up.

  “No, I can get them,” she said and started to push herself up from the kitchen chair.

  “Really, I don’t mind,” I said and touched her arm. “Don’t get up.” I cleared the table and started some dishwater in the sink. “I like helping you.”

  “Thank you, baby,” she said.

  “Aunt Julep?” I said as I rubbed the soapy water over a plate. “I just saw a couple of plastic jugs out in your backyard. They were marked with the word ‘Formaldehyde.’ Is that what’s in them?”

  “Oh, that’s just some spent embalming fluid mixture.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I thought everyone around here switched from using that to save the environment or something.” I didn’t want her to think I thought anything bad of her.

  “I needn’t worry none about the environment,” she said. “I’ll be dead before it hurts me.”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t believe in global warming?”

  “Child, it’s been hot in Texas all my life. And I’m sure for many lifetimes before mine. I don’t think it could get much hotter. It was one hundred and four degrees last week.”

  “Why are those jugs there?” I asked. “Why aren’t they at the funeral home?”

  “I thought they’d be safer here. No one’s going in and out of here except Pogue and a couple of ladies from my church,” she said. “Too many people at the funeral parlor.”

  “That was a good idea, I guess,” I said. “But what are you going to do with them? You can’t just store them here long term.”

  “I got a guy that comes out and gets rid of all the waste. They were just put there the other day. I’ll give him a call.”

  “A guy, Aunt Julep?” I creased my brow. “You know all that hazardous waste is pretty dangerous. You gotta be careful.”

  “You know I know that. I can’t afford a professional company no more. Business isn’t as good as it used to be. Gotta do the best I can do with what I got,” she said. “But I know he does right by it. Disposes of it properly.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure,” she said. “And it’s the last of it.” She squinted her eyes at me. “I have changed over to the no-formaldehyde embalming fluid. You didn’t know that?”

  “No,” I said, and I wanted to add that apparently neither did Auntie Zanne. “Pogue didn’t tell me.”

  “Well, I would have thought Babet would have told you. She campaigned around here long enough for it.”

  “Did she now?”

  “Yes she did. And there’s no saying no to her. At least not for long.” She ran her fingers along the edge of the table. “I just had to wait until I used up what I had. No money to waste like that. But I had to cancel the hazardous waste pickup.”

  “I didn’t know that you were having hard times, Aunt Julep,” I said. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Call you for what?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I said. “Money.”

  “I don’t need your money,” she said. “It’s what happens when you get old. You can’t do all the things you used to do. And I get by fine. Just can’t do no added extras, that’s all.”

  I guessed that was true. I just gauged everything by Auntie Zanne’s standards. I should have kept up with my Aunt Julep more.

  “Have you been feeling alright?” I said, not wanting to keep harping on her finances.

  “I’m no spring chicken,” she said. “The years have caught up with me.”

  “So who is running the funeral home these days?” I asked.

  “I got a boy just finished up with funeral school. And Mr. Pollack and his wife still work for me.”

  “Mr. Pollack,” I said, trying to conjure up a face to go with the name. “I don’t think I know him.”

  “Well, he sure knows you,” she said. “Said he seen you yesterday over at the funeral home messing with his shotgun.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I stood at the doorway of my old room and groaned. J.R. ran behind me, jumped on the bed, off the other side and ran in and out of the open closet.

  “What are you so excited about, boy?” I asked him. “It couldn’t be this room.” He cocked his head to one side and looked up at me.

  I had spent nearly the entire day with Aunt Julep. She had wanted me to go over to the funeral home to see the improvements she made and so she could show me off to her employees. I had to come up with something quick to avoid returning to those premises. I didn’t want to run into that Mr. Pollack again and have to explain to Aunt Julep why I’d been there snooping around and getting caught holding the barrel to his gun in my hands.

  So I told her I’d do her hair and nails for her, then promised I’d come back and go with her to her doctor’s appointment on Friday. I was sure that would light a fire under Auntie Zanne, seeing it was the first day of the festival and she wanted me there. But the festival didn’t start open until seven p.m., giving working people time to get home. That would give me plenty of time to spend with Aunt Julep during the day. Saturday and Sunday were the long days and I had already planned on being there then for Auntie Zanne.

  But now, back home, the downstairs was busy with folks and funerals and I needed a place to retreat. Looking around, it was easy to see that my bedroom just wasn’t going to cut it.

  Standing in the middle of the floor, I knew I wasn’t ever going to be able to hang out or sleep in that room. Not the way it looked. Not with all of what it reminded me of.

  And as for sleeping, I couldn’t go back to that couch. My back was still sore from trying to sleep the last two nights with my head and legs hanging over the edge. It made me groggy in the mornings and seemed to zap my vigor during the day. I needed a good night’s sleep.

  I looked down at J.R., his tail wagging and tongue hanging out, it looked like he was the only one getting the proper rest. He was full of energy.

  I blew air noisily out of my nose. I didn’t know what I could have been thinking when I had Auntie Zanne paint the walls lavender
. And all the frills–as I think back it had to have been her that forced me into it. How could I have ever liked anything so cheesy?

  All I wanted while I was here, which I still had my fingers crossed wouldn’t be long, was a place I could come and hide away. To relax. And to get enough restful sleep to make it through each day until I could go back to Chicago.

  There were always people around downstairs. Or in any of the rooms off the hallway where Josephine Gail slept. Families coming in to make arrangements for their loved ones, the funerals, Auntie’s club meetings and all of her “clients” coming in for her supernatural help. I really needed to be upstairs.

  This room though, wasn’t it.

  “C’mon, J.R.,” I said looking down at him. “Let’s check out the other rooms up here. Maybe I can just move into one of them.”

  J.R. followed me as I walked down the hall and opened each door. There were six bedrooms on the second floor, some with beds, some converted to storage areas for Auntie’s stuff. They looked different from what I remembered, yet none of them seemed right for me. Not as much light as in my room, or a lot less space.

  I took deliberate steps to the last bedroom and opened the door slowly. I tried to focus my eyes to peer inside.

  It was exactly the same.

  The door creaked as I pushed it all the way open. Other than the sliver of sunlight streaming through the opening in the heavy drapes, the room was dark. But there was no musty smell, or lingering telltale signs giving notice of it being unoccupied for years.

  It had been the bedroom of my Auntie Zanne and her husband before I came. But after he died, she had never slept in the room again.

  I walked over and ran my hand across the cool pillow on the bed. I looked around, focusing my eyes to make out things in the dim light. When I still lived in Roble, I had often-times heard Auntie Zanne go into the room at night. Once, I peeked through the door and saw her, just standing in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around her chest like she was drawing in all her memories and holding onto them.

  She had loved him so much, but, so I’d been told, only half as much as he loved her.

  I went over and sat in an upholstered chair by the window and felt my eyes mist up. I didn’t often mention it aloud, but I wanted a love like that, too. One like Auntie had. One like my parents. I had always hoped that was what I’d have with Alex.

  Now, I wasn’t so sure that I would.

  He hadn’t given me any hope to hang onto when I’d spoken to him the other night. Nothing more than the same things he’d said when I told him I was out of a job. Nope, he hadn’t given me any indication of him coming to Roble to rescue me.

  I didn’t know why I counted on him. I was being silly. Silly in love with someone that couldn’t possibly reciprocate. I swiped a tear that had somehow escaped and rolled down my check and sniffed back the others before they followed.

  I could do it. I knew I could. I didn’t need anyone to come and save me.

  I stood up and walked to the door. I could go back and get a job in Chicago and start my life there. Again. All by myself. I’d done it before. Then I could take my time with Alex. I wouldn’t feel so rushed about everything. So scared.

  I walked out of the room, shut the door behind me and went back downstairs, J.R. hopping down the steps behind me. I grabbed a couple of large black trash bags and went back up to my room.

  “If I am going to find a way out of this corner of the Piney Woods, I’m going to have to keep my head clear,” I said. “And that means all this stuff has to go.” I looked at J.R.

  I was going to stay in my room, I decided, but I was going to fix it.

  “We’ll store all that craziness in the basement,” I said and J.R. gave out a bark in agreement.

  “I can do this,” I said as I ripped Prince off the wall, the poster tearing down the middle. “Sorry,” I told the Purple Artist as I stuffed him down in the bag. “Doesn’t mean I don’t still love you.”

  After him went all the other pictures, frilly purple pillows, and cheap room accents that Auntie Zanne had so carefully preserved for me, just like she did her bodies down in the Preparation Room. Only I wasn’t done yet.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I got up early to Auntie Zanne shouting my name up the steps. I stretched and before I even swung my legs over the side of the bed, I knew I had rested better than I had any other night. Even sleeping on top of the mattress cover with bare walls, albeit still purple, was a definite improvement over the downstairs couch.

  I sat up and looked around the room, satisfied that I’d made the right decision. Sure, I’d have to paint it and go shopping–buy furniture and accents that would suit me, but just the idea of that made me smile. That would give me the serenity I needed to plan my escape back to the real world. Things were looking up already.

  “Romaine!” Auntie Zanne called again. “Will you get down here already? The day’ll be over soon.”

  “Okay,” I shouted back.

  “Plan my escape from her,” I mumbled as I padded across the floor and into the ensuite. “That’s what I’m going to do.”

  I showered and went downstairs to the smell of bacon. “Good morning,” she said. “Are you trying to sleep your life away?”

  “It was the first time I got a good night’s sleep.” I pulled out a chair to sit and glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s not that late,” I said.

  “What’s going on with you?” she said setting a plate down in front of me. “That silly room of yours making you anxious?”

  Sometimes my auntie seemed to have a sixth sense about me. Knowing when I was feeling bad even without me saying anything. Giving me encouragement and special treatment to make me feel better. Sometimes, though, she just feigned concern because she had something up her sleeve.

  I watched as she poured me a glass of orange juice out of a pitcher in the refrigerator. “You think the room is silly?” I asked. I bit into a slice of bacon that was on the plate she given me alongside a sunny-side up egg, and toast cut on the diagonal.

  “No. I love it. It reminds me of you,” she said. “But it seems you’re not too happy with it. Maybe you should do something about it before you resort to sleeping in a casket.”

  “I don’t think it’ll get that bad,” I said eyeing her. “What do you think I should do about it?” I ran my toast through the gooey yellow yolk.

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Whatever you like.”

  “I was thinking about painting it. Doing some redecorating,” I said. “What do you think about that?”

  “I think it’s a good idea. Can’t have you troubled if you’re going to be helping me around here. I need you have a clear head to plan the festival and solve this murder.”

  “I just want to paint the room,” I said, not wanting to agree to helping with anything else.

  “What color were you thinking about?” she asked.

  “I was just thinking I’d keep it simple. Like white.”

  “Oh my heavens,” she said. “Please don’t do that. That room is too large. It’ll look like a hospital.”

  “I like hospitals,” I said and sipped on the juice.

  Ahhh...Fresh squeezed.

  “Yeah, but you don’t want to live in one, do you?” she asked.

  I sighed.

  “How about if we go to the hardware store?” she said. “And you can see what you like.”

  “There’s a plan,” I said and crunched down the last of my bacon. “But I’m choosing the color.”

  “That’s fine, Sugarplum. Whatever makes you happy. And I’ll ride with you. It’ll be fun.”

  “Mmmhmm,” I said getting more suspicious with every passing second of her niceness. “When do you wanna go?” I asked.

  She smiled. “No time like the present,” she said and grabbed her car keys from the wal
l caddy.

  “Really?” I said. She acquiesced so easily and too quickly for me, she must’ve had something up her sleeve. But I downed the remainder of my juice and stood to put the glass and plate in the sink. “I’m ready.”

  “But first,” she smiled at me. “We’ve got festival business.”

  “Oh, joy.”

  I knew she was up to something.

  An hour later we were walking the fields at the San Augustine fairgrounds, home, at least for the last seventeen of its twenty-five-year history, to the Sabine County Annual Crawfish Boil and Music Festival.

  We had left home after I helped her make a couple of phone calls and fielded questions from Floneva on protocol for going to the cemetery for graveside services. First thing Auntie Zanne wanted to do after we left home was check on the fairgrounds to make sure everything was ready for the vendors and musicians. I didn’t know when we’d ever make it to the hardware store to get the paint she was so eager for me to have.

  The grounds were spacious. There were acres of cleared land surrounded by a beautiful pine forest-lined exterior. There were paved walkways with benches scattered about, grassy areas and shade trees.

  The city of San Augustine was considered large in our little neck of the woods—it had a whopping two thousand or so residents. Established before the Revolutionary War, people were getting lost in the pines around it as early as the mid-1500s. Birthplace to several colleges and the first churches in Texas of several denominations, it was the first stop to many entering Texas.

  It had a good reputation and with it being the home to Mission Dolores, as a major local attraction, it was the first place Auntie Zanne thought of as the new home for the festival once she became a member of the board of directors for the Tri-County Chamber of Commerce. It didn’t seem to matter to her that the festival wasn’t in the county it was named for.